


Old Hoodies and Sweater Vests

by AlphaStarr



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Coffeeshop AU, College AU, Coming Out, Feroxi Family Dynamics, Grandpa Basilio, M/M, Misunderstandings, Modern AU, References to "The Sound of Music", Religion, Romantic Comedy Hijinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5084563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaStarr/pseuds/AlphaStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After living in the closet for basically his whole life, Lon'qu comes out to his sister. Who promptly introduces him to the straitlaced, sweater-vest-wearing Biblical Studies major from her psychology class who's studying to work in religious counseling. Needless to say, he's mortified... though, perhaps, for all the wrong reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Subject of Girls in White Dresses and Blue Satin Sashes [Lon'qu]

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters are told in the pseudo-POV of the person whose name comes after the title, though shifts shouldn't be too hard to follow. Current rating is tentative.

First and foremost, above all else, Olivia had always been his sister.

Always.

It started when they were kids, Lon'qu thought-- he couldn't have been any older than six, then, though he's still not certain of his exact birthdate. It was maybe the third or fourth foster home he'd been to, though he's not exactly sure which; they were all so alike that they blurred together in his memory, and he'd been too young then to remember completely, anyways. He and Olivia had been two of seven children who'd lived there, and for reasons beyond his comprehension, she clung to him. Maybe because he was a great deal less rambunctious than the other kids who'd lived there. Maybe because they were the two closest in age. Maybe because he'd sneak out and steal lemons from the neighbor's backyard trees and make tea for her when she had a sore throat.

There was a vague memory of their caretaker forcing them to sing without breaks for hours on end, apparently as part of some scheme to seduce the group home's patron á la " _The Sound of Music_." In the end, Lon'qu hadn't been able to stand it, and he'd wound up being transferred to his fourth or fifth foster home when he'd snapped and punched the woman as she was shrieking about how their voices would never be good enough for her future husband, much less for her final plans of becoming the winners of "America's Got Talent." She'd eventually had her license revoked, and Lon'qu lost track of Olivia then.

It wasn't until he was close to thirteen, sitting in the backseat of a policecar for getting in a streetfight... again.

"All right, kid," Officer Flavia Regna had parked in front of the local police station. She turned around to look at him, "Look, I really hate to toss you in the brig to detain you, but you know this is your third offense. I can't just keep dropping you off at the group home on 13th Street, 'specially since none of the caretakers are willing to actually listen to what I've gotta say for five damn minutes. So, we're going to wait here until one of your legal guardians comes, posts bail, and actually hears me out on making sure you stay out of trouble."

"Not happening," Lon'qu grunted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What, you think they don't care about you enough to show up?" she frowned, looking him in the eye. "Look, I don't think you're a bad kid. Maybe a little hot-headed, is all. I'm sure someone from the group home knows that, too, and even if they don't-- well, they're required to take care of you by law, and if they don't, then you can guarantee I'll be the one to shut _them_ in the brig, okay? Officer Knight's calling them up as we speak."

Lon'qu looked away uncomfortably, "I-- that's not my group home."

"What?" Officer Regna's mouth fell a little agape at that, her nose wrinkling in anger. "What the hell, kid, you mean to tell me I've been dropping you off at the wrong place for the last _month_? Where're you from, anyways, the home on 13th is the only one in the entire damn district! Don't tell me you're all the way from the one up State Avenue?"

"I'm not," Lon'qu scowled, not bothering to add that it had been she who'd assumed he lived on 13th Street when he said he didn't have any relatives. It wasn't like she'd cared to listen, anyways.

"Well, damn," she sighed. "Look. Wherever it is you're from, I've got to take you there. Can I at least get a street name?"

"13th Street," answered Lon'qu coldly.

"You just told me--"

He cut her off with a biting retort, "In Lexington, Nebraska."

Flavia stared at him for a second, her brows raised in shock. Good, thought Lon'qu as he hugged his skinned knees to his chest, maybe that would get her to shut up for a minute.

And then, she laughed.

"Damn," she chuckled. "You know you're in Silverspring, New York, right? I can't even be mad at you about it. Never even occurred to me you might be from out of town-- out of state, even. Course, that brings up a whole different set of problems... I'll talk to Basilio about it. He's more often than not an idiotic oaf, but he used to be Chief of Police, and an ex-foster-homer himself. If anyone in this town knows what to do, it'll be him."

"Hn," Lon'qu grunted noncommittally.

"Officer Knight, turns out we've got a bit of a runaway issue here," Flavia clicked in over her walkie-talkie. "I'm gonna take him to Basilio, see if he knows anything about what to do, over."

A bit of static, and then: "Roger that, Officer Regna. I figured he might be, since nobody at Haven Home seems to know who he is. Let me know when you get there, all right? I'd come with you, but... well, it's _Basilio_. Over and out."

Lon'qu was almost surprised by how short the drive was. Perhaps two or three blocks away, they stopped at a small, but well-maintained house. After radioing in, Flavia led him out of the car and began banging on the door, "Hey, oaf, you in there? I got something to talk to you about!"

That was about the time a bald head popped out from the unattached garage to the side, "What, did you miss your old boss too much to wait until the end of your shift? Is Phila being a slave-driver again?"

"Ha, you wish," Flavia snorted, walking over and knuckling Basilio's head. That was about the time Lon'qu noticed that the bald man was also _missing an eye_. That, he thought, explained why he wasn't Chief of Police anymore. "Look, we've got a runaway. Says he's from Nebraska, a group home somewhere in Lexington."

"And I just got back from picking up my daughter from ballet. We haven't even eaten yet," Basilio's wry grin, however, betrayed the humor of the situation. "It's just like you to interrupt the only real _important_ thing I was planning to do today. Bring him in. We might as well talk over dinner-- I've got a pot roast on the stove and potatoes probably burning in the oven."

Flavia rolled her eyes, "Why is it that, even when I'm here for business, you somehow manage to feed me?"

"Lon'qu!" a high-pitched, mousy voice came from seemingly nowhere, and suddenly Lon'qu found himself tackled by a hug around the middle. His skin felt like it was crawling. "Lon'qu, is it really you?"

He looked down at a mess of pale pink hair, and managed to sputter, "Do... I know you?"

Her lower lip trembled and her face began to pucker like she was going to cry, "D-don't you remember? It's me, Olivia! F-from the house with the lemon tree behind it..."

He did, but...

"You look different. Taller," a pause. "Can you stop hugging me now?"

She only sniffled louder, "Oh! It really is you! I m-missed you... waaah..."

Lon'qu cringed in utter mortification, not sure what to do when a girl was _crying_ on you, but awkwardly tried to pat her shoulder. He guessed it must have been the right thing to do, because after spending the night in Basilio's guest bedroom, the first thing he'd been presented with the next morning was a fax-copy of an adoption form and sweet-potato pancakes.

"You're going to regret it once you know me," he said.

"Hmmm... nope, I don't think I will," Basilio laughed back, clapping him on the shoulder. "You remind me too much of when I was a kid, and I came out in one piece. Well, mostly, at any rate, bwahaha! Besides, I don't think I've ever heard Olivia talk as much as she did last night... and if you're like family to her, then you're family to me."

Olivia, in his childhood, had been practically his younger sister. She always would be.

But so, too, would his family include Basilio, the only person who'd housed him by choice; Flavia, the policewoman who hadn't shipped him right back to Nebraska when she found out where he was from; the entire Silverspring police station, all of whom had glared down town bullies for his sake at one point or another.

But it had been Olivia who had become his family first, and so, he thought, she was the first one he would tell, the first one who'd know the secret that had been broiling in his gut for what felt like forever.

"Lon'qu," she smiled, her slim hands warming themselves on the cup of hot tea she'd ordered from one of the many campus-owned cafes. "It feels like so long since we've spoken... even though we go to the same school, it feels like we hardly see each other..."

"We don't share classes," Lon'qu replied tersely.

"Right... because I'm taking a lot of the prerequisites for dance majors and you... you're almost done with your courses in forensic science," she cast her gaze aside. "S-sorry... I was just thinking about how you're going to be graduating soon. Time flies so fast..."

"Hn," Lon'qu grunted noncommittally, somehow more taciturn than ever now that he actually had something to say. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee (milk, no sugar) just for something to do as his sister continued to fumble for conversation topics. The more she could come up with, the better-- anything would be easier than actually telling her what he'd been meaning to say for ages.

"Um... the school's ballet company's going to put on The Nutcracker just before Christmas, and I was thinking of maybe auditioning... well, not maybe _auditioning_ , because it's kind of part of my grade, but, um, I wanted to audition for the Lead Marzipan, but usually, they take seniority into account when they choose roles, so maybe I'll just audition for one of the Polichinelles..." she scratched at her cheek a bit anxiously.

"... thought the Sugar Plum Fairy was your favorite," Lon'qu commented, not entirely sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that he actually knew what a Polichinelle _was_.

"Oh, y-yes," Olivia looked a little surprised that he seemed to remember, even though she spent the entire winter of last year playing the song on repeat. "B-but, you know, that's one of the hardest dances in the whole ballet, and really, it's probably better that one of the older students gets the role, since they're more experienced and... well, I don't want to look foolish by auditioning for something too ambitious, since I'm only a freshman..."

"... Marzipan, then," he frowned, not entirely certain how dance department politics were supposed to work. "If they give you anything less, they're idiots."

"N-no... it's just that, well, usually freshmen get less significant roles, and I don't want to insult anyone..." Olivia bit her lip. "But, um, I'm pretty sure you didn't ask to meet with me to talk about ballet... right?"

"Depends," Lon'qu paused. It was true, but still... he _did_ have to make sure nobody in the department was picking on her. "Do I need to punch anyone?"

"No!" Olivia shouted, immediately turning red as a couple of people across the street turned to look at her for the outburst. "I-I mean, everyone's really nice, please don't punch anyone... it's really unnecessary, and I don't want them to get hurt or for you to get in trouble because of it. P-please, tell me about what's been going on with you. Um, you're not in trouble for fighting again... are you? Because, you know, I _really_ can't tell dad for you..."

"I'm not," Lon'qu replied, looking in the other direction and blushing, if only because the last time he'd been in trouble for fighting had been so _embarrassing_. He took another sip of coffee to steady his nerves, but then decided that the caffeine was probably making it worse. Crap. "And I don't expect you to tell dad for me."

"W-wait, you're not _in trouble_ , or you're not in trouble _because of fighting_??" Olivia gasped. "Because that actually kinda sounds a lot like--"

"I'm not in trouble," Lon'qu scowled, aggrieved. "Not with authority, at least. It's a... personal issue."

"Oh! Um, is there friend group drama?" Olivia seemed to jolt at the idea. "Or maybe do you need advice about a girlfriend? Maybe, um, I could try to help you! Because, you know, dad's getting kind of worried that you haven't been out much..."

"Let me guess," Lon'qu sighed. This was just going to get more difficult. "He said something about how his Feroxi arse isn't getting any younger, and he wants grandkids?"

"Hehe... that's almost exactly what he said, actually!" Olivia giggled at Basilio's predictability. She hesitated for a beat before continuing, "So... it _is_ about a girlfriend? Or, um, maybe getting one? Because I can introduce you to some of my friends if you want... or, well, they're actually mostly Chrom's friends, but I _kinda_ know most of them, and they're all really nice. Cordelia, actually--"

"No," Lon'qu ended the suggestion right there. There would be, he realized, no delicate way to go about it. He'd just have to summon whatever courage he had and tell her as quickly as possible, like ripping off a Band-Aid so as to avoid dragging out the pain. At last, he blurted out, "I'm gay."

And that was that.

Somehow, it didn't make him feel much better, especially since Olivia was completely silent, her eyes as wide as saucers. I fucked up, Lon'qu thought, I fucked up so bad. Her hands were trembling, and Lon'qu was worried that she might drop her tea until she finally took a shaky, suspiciously lengthy sip of the warm beverage.

After a couple minutes, at last she said, "Oh."

This, Lon'qu thought, was not a very reassuring answer.

"Don't tell dad for me," he cut away brusquely. "I'll do it myself."

And then, without another word, he left his sister in the autumn breeze, departing before she could say anything else. Surely nothing else she could say would make him feel any better.

* * *

 It wasn't until nearly ten days later that Lon'qu heard back from Olivia, a tiny handful of text messages received while he was half-heartedly leafing through his textbook:

> **Olivia  
>  ** lon'qu, i'm sorry for not texting until now... i was surprised, but you're still my brother and i still really care about you, so...
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  i was thinking, maybe you could meet up with my friend libra this saturday? if you're not busy, that is. he said that if you agreed, it'd okay with him.
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  we're in the same psychology 1010 class and he's a biblical studies major and i think you'd really get along!
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  um... just text me back with a "yes" or "no" if you want to... or not...

He almost threw his phone against the wall in aggravation. He thought better of it; he couldn't afford to replace a phone screen. Besides, thought Lon'qu, Olivia really _did_ think she was acting with his best interests at heart by referring him to a friend who was in all likelihood training to be a priest or religious scholar. Not that it would help any; Lon'qu had ceased believing in God a long time ago. Most likely somewhere around the nine thousandth verse of "So Long, Farewell" in that damned group home, or perhaps even before then, in an isolated incident of yellow tape and bloodied grass, and a social worker carefully blocking him from seeing what he later learned to be the grotesque suicide-murder of his birth parents. (His father had been the murder. His mother had been the suicide.)

He weighed his options for a moment-- on the one hand, he could refuse to speak to whoever this "Libra" guy was. He could avoid having to listen to sermons about how he could free himself from his desire for the male body through religious perseverance or temperance or whatever it was he happened to be studying at the time. He could avoid whatever holier-than-thou attitude had come of supposedly-superior spirituality. Lon'qu had heard an entire lifetime's share of religious lectures from foster home number seven, and he didn't need more.

He could avoid his sister's attempt to care for him, ill-judged and misguided though it may be. He could, like a craven, avoid what could possibly be her only attempt to confront him about his sexuality, as passive and unimposing as she tried to be about it.

Or he could agree to meet just once, just to put his sister at ease. He might even be able to pretend that talking to a priest had worked, even though he was pretty sure it wouldn't. He knew Olivia. Once, when he came home from school complaining of a headache, she'd spent all night popping in and out of his room to wake him up, just in case he had a concussion and was going to enter a coma if he wasn't woken up every couple of hours.

He wasn't sure where she'd been, what foster homes she'd stayed at after their brief stay at the Von Trapp Musical Torture Chamber, but if they'd impressed upon her that Hell was an actual threat, she'd probably worry her way into a stomach ulcer or two.

Impulsively, he texted back--

> **Lon'qu**  
>  Fine. I can meet at 1. Need to check the lab that morning.
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Have to leave at 3, though. Work.
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  that shouldn't be a problem, i think!
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  um, libra suggested maybe the coffee-house on the edge of campus... i think it's called "black magic"?
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  I know the place.
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  all right, i'll let him know...
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  and, um, by the way... i'm really glad you're giving this a chance. :)

Crap, thought Lon'qu. She used a smiley face, and that was practically holding him hostage by his guilt, unconscious though it may be. Olivia only ever used smiley-faces whenever her real face was wearing one of those shy, hesitant smiles that Lon'qu worried would break if he so much as looked at her wrong. Perhaps one of the things that made him uncomfortable about his sister was just how delicate her feelings could be, and he knew in the moment he replied

> **Lon'qu  
>  ** Don't mention it.

that he'd be completely unable to back out of meeting this guy on Saturday unless something urgent really _did_ come up.

Dammit.

The injury of his sister's lack of support resonated in him again, almost like an aftershock, and he tried to tamp down the sinking feeling in his gut. Subtle though her rejection may have been, and though made without any true attempt to hurt, it felt a little like a couple hundred tiny, minuscule pins prodding at the corners of his eyes and oh shit, Lon'qu, you are _not_ crying. He carefully stared at the molecular composition diagram of the neurotoxin on the page before him until the urge went away before swallowing and promptly pitching his phone into the pillow of his dormitory bunk bed.

It made him feel better, but only a little.


	2. Awkward, But Still Better Than Tharja's Scary Boobs [Lon'qu]

Saturday came around, as all Saturdays must... to Lon'qu's displeasure. Despite his best attempts to make checking in on his Biochemistry 4026 lab last as long as possible, you could only spend so long counting the number of dead cells in petri dishes. Especially when Tharja-- the creepy Sophomore in his class, the one who was somehow two years ahead of normal studies-- happened to be glaring you down from across the room.

Tharja, he thought, was probably everything that made him uncomfortable in a person-- she wore terrifying amounts of black makeup, carried around at least four switchblades (Lon'qu was pretty sure he had yet to even see them all), and she seemed to know more about poisons and biohazards than even their professors. He was relatively certain that she could "accidentally" scratch you with a poisoned fingernail and have you die in however many agonizing hours or days as she saw fit.

Also, her wardrobe seemed to consist entirely of corsets and fishnet, which was an entirely nerve-wracking amount of titty to have shoved in your face if you even accidentally glanced her way... especially for poor, painfully gay Lon'qu.

As if she could tell what he was afraid of, she smirked in his direction, arms crossed directly under her terrifying, enormous boobs.

This was probably why, after wiping down his sweaty hands for the nth time, he gave up on trying to refocus the microscope for a second counting check and made himself busy by putting everything back in its proper place as quickly as humanly possible. The less time spent in the lab, the better, especially when Tharja was barely even pretending to pay attention to her own lab project. He wasn't sure whether he'd been marked for death or not, but he most certainly wasn't willing to push his luck by spending even more time in that room.

It was noon when he left, and there was plenty of time before he had to go meet up with whomever Olivia had deemed fit for the confrontation, as Black Magic Coffee was roughly half an hour's walk from the lab building (perhaps fifteen minutes, if he ran). That might give him some time for a quick shower-- anything to wash away that chilling feeling of being next on someone's hit list-- and switch to a shirt that didn't have spectroscopic dye stains on the sleeves. It looked like a rainbow of pH litmus strips had vomited on him, which was basically pretty much what had happened, and last he checked, showing up to meet a religious guy who was supposed to talk to you about your heretofore latent homosexuality while wearing the colors of the rainbow was considered ill form.

His hair was still damp when he arrived, but he was, at the very least, on time. He pursed his lips as he scanned the cafe's patrons-- Libra could be neither of the two women in the corner, both clearly engrossed in their Nintendo DSes far more than their cooling coffees. He certainly hoped Libra wasn't one of the people in the nauseatingly saccharine couple at the table to the far right. That would be incredibly awkward. He was also probably not the barista, who wore significantly more piercings than he'd ever seen on a Biblical Studies major, and was stealing all of the tabletop sugar packets from unoccupied tables. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the cafe, so unless he was supposed to meet him outside--

Thud.

A collision at Lon'qu's back reminded him that he was standing in the doorway of a very small cafe, and that it was probably the door that had just hit him.

"Oh! Sorry, my apologies," came the dulcet voice behind the wooden door as Lon'qu scrambled to get out of the way. "I truly didn't mean to bump into you."

The man slid in with a sort of reticent grace, tucking wind-tossed strands of his long hair behind a pale, delicate ear. Lon'qu almost doubted he was a man at first, except that when he brushed past him to step inside, Lon'qu didn't experience even a vague echo of the panic that usually gripped his chest when a woman got too close. A double-take drew Lon'qu's eyes to a broad shoulder-line, emphasized by the slimness of his figure in a close-fitting sweater vest. The shirt-collar protruding from it seemed to deliberately frame his bare, slim neck-- perhaps drawing further attention to the contrast it made with his very prominent Adam's apple. Lon'qu could feel his own bob as he swallowed.

If his sister had to refer him to a priest, why couldn't she have chosen one who was less  _handsome_?

"My name is Libra," he smiled placidly, pale blue eyes setting themselves into gentle half-moons. "You wouldn't, by any chance, happen to be Lon'qu, would you?"

"Yeah," Lon'qu grunted back, not entirely sure how to reply. "I am."

"Have you ordered yet?" the blonde turned his face to the side in query, and Lon'qu's eyes followed the way his hair slid across his cheek.

"No. Just got here," Lon'qu averted his eyes and hoped the other man didn't notice how warm his face was becoming.

"Ah-- then I didn't keep you waiting for long, that's good," Libra replied, a barely-there tension seeming to seep out of his shoulders. "Please order before me; after all, you've been waiting in line  _much_  longer than I."

Lon'qu gave an inelegant snort at that, raising his hand to cover what was surely an unattractive facial expression. He could appreciate a dry sense of humor.

"If you insist," he answered, before turning to the heavily-pierced barista. "Medium coffee, milk, no sugar. Lox bagel."

"Will that be for here or to go?" he drawled, his upper lip dragging against the ring in his lower.

"Here," Lon'qu scowled.

"That's going to be seven forty two," he answered, but just as Lon'qu was trying to count out forty two cents from the truly massive amount of change in his jeans pocket, he was interrupted by Libra sliding a twenty over the counter.

"And the usual, if you will, Gaius," Libra beamed at the barista.

"Yeah, sure," the barista-- Gaius-- scribbled something extra on the order. "Chai latte and eggplant sandwich, right? Anyways, your change'll be two dollars and seven cents."

"Gaius," a firmer tone came to Libra's voice.

"Fine, fine. Three thirty five," the red-haired barista rolled his eyes. "Can't pull one over you, Padre."

Lon'qu frowned, "You didn't have to pay for mine, too."

"But isn't that the polite thing to do?" Libra replied, that same placid smile over his lips. "After all, wasn't it  _I_  who asked to meet you?"

"I was under the impression it was  _my sister_  who asked  _you_  to meet me," Lon'qu muttered, embarrassed.

Probably, Libra thought nothing of it-- just buttering some random guy up for spiritual counseling or whatever. He might even do this a lot, judging by how well the barista knew his order. But to Lon'qu, paying for someone else's meal was something you did on  _dates_ , and frankly, this was in no way a date.

"Ah-- truly?" Libra's smile faltered for a moment, the way a cheap lightbulb flickers so minutely you almost wonder if you just imagined the break. "No... rest assured, that was not the case. She spoke to me about you, and I was... intrigued. I... actually asked her to contact you for me. I certainly hope that wasn't too forward of me."

Lon'qu grunted his assent. He was almost upset about this guy clearly butting his nose into someone else's business, but realized on second thought that his sister had probably become very distressed when talking about him, and then he was practically  _grateful_  that Libra had offered to do anything at all to alleviate her worries.

"It's fine," he added, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"Hey, yo," a couple of quick snaps ended the awkward silence as red-hair-and-piercings guy shoved a tray forward on the counter. "Are you planning to eat or not?"

* * *

Lon'qu was almost abashed for having assumed mistakenly that he'd spend the whole time listening to a one-sided lecture about God and resisting his lustful desires, because Libra seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say, as little and lacking in eloquence as it may have been. That, and the topic of their conversation seemed to meander far, far off the supposed subject of discourse.

"... so, in essence, then, you believe that killing for a just cause is forgivable?" Lon'qu pursed his lips over the next mouthful of coffee.

"Ah... I'm afraid that's not quite the same meaning," Libra answered, looking slightly to the side. "Merely that I cannot fault someone for fighting-- indeed, even for killing-- if they're fighting to protect someone dear to them. I still don't think it's completely right, to value the lives of certain people over the lives of others in general, but emotions and ideals weigh heavily in the hearts of mankind. I can't bear to persecute someone who bloodies their hands only to keep unbloodied the bodies of those they care for."

Perhaps, if he'd been able to choose, Lon'qu wouldn't have chosen death, of all things, for their first topic of conversation, but it was too late to change that now. It came with the territory, he thought, of their respective majors-- Lon'qu in Forensic Science, literally the science of figuring out how people die, and Libra in Biblical Studies, which dealt philosophically with what happens to people after they pass on.

"Not just  _any_  cause, then," Lon'qu responded. "Hm."

"Silly as it seems, I'm afraid that's an exception I'm willing to make as far as death goes," Libra shook his head sadly, as if disappointed by the state of his own morals. "I really should say that any kind of murder is utterly inexcusable, but still... the entropy of the human heart has a limit, and we  _are_  only mortal. I suppose, really, it would be best to address methods of preventing deaths caused by greed, madness, ambition... the usual sins, before we begin to unravel how we should deal with deaths caused by love."

"Those aren't exactly exclusive," Lon'qu added brusquely. "For example, a war started for the sake of expansion, continued in order to prevent the enemy from attacking civilians."

"Oh, that's true... I admit, things  _do_  tend to work in those fragmented half-wrongs..." Libra steepled his fingers, drawing his brows together in a troubled manner. "It would be a great deal easier if humans dealt in absolutes, but I'm afraid that absolutes seem to belong only to higher powers..."

"I don't think that's right," Lon'qu snorted. "Even the orbits of the planets are imperfect. Nobody deals in absolutes, higher power or not. Even when the higher power in question is gravity."

"Hm... I have always thought it very strange that a perfect being should create so many imperfect works, but," Libra bit his lip in contemplation. "I wonder if it's not an artistic decision, the way people will sometimes find a cracked bowl more beautiful than an unflawed one."

"Artists don't usually crack bowls on purpose," Lon'qu noted.

"You should meet Say'ri, then," Libra smiled into his tea. "My friend from high school; she's in Fine Arts somewhere in Connecticut now. Her last gallery submission was a collection of broken pottery that she'd made and smashed herself."

"Sounds unusual," he replied.

"I think it was supposed to be a metaphor for broken things still being beautiful, or something along those lines, but I'm not quite certain," answered Libra thoughtfully. "I'm afraid I never convinced her to divulge her thoughts on its making."

"Maybe beautiful  _because_  it's broken," Lon'qu looked to the side, trying not to make eye contact. Not when Libra's face had become so... intense, like there were a thousand thoughts left unsaid below the surface. He'd seen similar expressions before, of course. But Libra's face seemed especially suited to it-- the darkness of the gaze, the slightly-indented brow.

Lon'qu tried hard not to think about how attractive he looked when doing that.

"Oh, that's right," Libra seemed to snap from his reverie as he glanced in the same direction as Lon'qu-- coincidentally, the same place where the coffee-shop's only clock was perched. "You needed to leave at three, didn't you? I'm sorry, I'm afraid I lost track of time..."

"What?" Lon'qu blinked and, as if seeing the clock for the first time, realized that it was almost five minutes after three. Had two hours really passed by so quickly? "Damn... I'll have to run to catch the bus..."

"Here, um, before you go," Libra scribbled something out on a paper napkin and held it out to him. "Just in case you'd like to talk again sometime."

Lon'qu took it, and noticed that even Libra's  _handwriting_  was beautiful. It was a telephone number, and... maybe, just maybe, Lon'qu was thinking of actually calling it. But later, when he wasn't running late for a bus to his job.

"Uh, thanks," Lon'qu muttered quietly. And, with only a curt nod serving as his goodbye, Lon'qu ran out to the bus station.

He attributed his heart's refusal to slow its pounding to the run, and definitely not because he'd realized that he had just secured the number of a cute guy.

> **Olivia**  
>  so... you met with libra today
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  was it okay?
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  i really really hope you aren't mad at me for telling him about you...

Those were the texts that Lon'qu first saw when he opened his phone on the bus ride back from work. The 3 PM bus out was pretty crowded, full of students heading off-campus for whatever parties were being hosted in apartments in the next town over. By comparison, he was almost alone on the ride back five hours later, the only other person choosing to sit by himself near the driver. Lon'qu thought he might be a freshman.

> **Olivia**  
>  oh no! you're mad at me aren't you?
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  i'm so so so sorry
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  i was trying to help but i just messed it up again...
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Slow down. I only just got off work.
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  It was fine.
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  oh... so
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  would you maybe consider meeting with him again?
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Hm. Maybe.
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Don't trouble yourself with setting up another meeting, though.
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  oh... does that mean no?
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  It means that if I want to see him again, I can set it up myself.
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  oh!! okay, that's great :)
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  i have my evening practice soon but maybe we can talk again sometime this week?
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Maybe.
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Go to class.
> 
> **Olivia**  
>  ok!! bye

Scowling, Lon'qu tisked at her impatience. His shift at the karate dojo ended with the childrens' class at eight, just in time to make it out for the bus. It was almost like she was anxious to know if her attempt at setting him up with religious counseling had worked. Which. Actually, upon thinking about it, was probably the case. But whatever way she meant it, Lon'qu supposed that maybe... just maybe it was a good idea to send a message to Libra.

Just in case. For his sister's sake.

Lon'qu carefully extracted the rumpled napkin from his pocket, entering the name and number into his contacts list. Hopefully he was reading it correctly; it had gotten slightly smudged.

> **Lon'qu**  
>  Is this Libra?
> 
> **Libra**  
>  WGMGpTHgS1?
> 
> **Libra**  
>  SORRX
> 
> **Libra**  
>  I HAVENT TEXTED IN A WGILE
> 
> **Libra**  
>  WH6 IS THIS?

Lon'qu quickly muffled his snort in his sleeve. Who would have guessed that Libra... was terrible at texting. From the looks of it, he probably had one of the older models of phone, one without a keyboard. Rather more obviously, he had no idea how to use it. If he'd been one to use such words, Lon'qu would say that it was almost... cute.

> **Lon'qu**  
>  ... this is Lon'qu.
> 
> **Libra**  
>  OH HELLO
> 
> **Libra**  
>  APmLOGIES Imafraid I dont text muhc
> 
> **Libra**  
>  I mean apologies Im afraid I dont text much
> 
> **Libra**  
>  By the by do you know how to input commas?
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  No. I haven't had a 9 key phone in a couple years.
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Sorry.
> 
> **Libra**  
>  Please dont trouble yourself
> 
> **Libra**  
>  Though I really must apologies
> 
> **Libra**  
>  I mean apologiZE
> 
> **Libra**  
>  This is embarrassing Im sorry

Damn it. Damn it all. Lon'qu desperately tried to cover his burning cheeks with the hand that wasn't occupied holding his phone. There was simply no other way to put it. Libra was cute. So cute.

And, he reminded himself, totally unavailable. There was, after all, a reason why they'd met-- it was a terrible idea to develop a crush on the priest that his sister had introduced to him specifically for religious counseling related to his homosexuality. It might, in fact, be the worst idea he'd ever had. Ever. Crushing on a guy like that could only produce one outcome, and it involved Lon'qu pining away for several months, watching him get a girlfriend, and stealing one of his roommate's twenty gym passes to beat the stuffing out of a punching bag in a random gym somewhere. Theoretically, of course. No gym receptionist in their right mind would mistake him for Vaike.

If he was really desperate, he might purchase a gym membership of his own just to punch shit.

Just as Lon'qu was considering his options of where he might go to punch stuff if he were to theoretically develop a crush on Libra, his phone chimed again:

> **Libra**  
>  Perhaps it would be easier to speak in person
> 
> **Libra**  
>  When are you available this week?
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Tomorrow morning. Wednesday night. Friday after 4 PM.
> 
> **Lon'qu**  
>  Your pick.
> 
> **Libra**  
>  This is really quite unfortunate
> 
> **Libra**  
>  Im afraid I work on Wednesdays and Fridays and tomorrow I teach Sunday school
> 
> **Libra**  
>  Perhaps would you be available next Saturday?
> 
> **Libra**  
>  The same time as today?

Scowling at his phone, Lon'qu stuffed the twinge of injury away from where it festered in his gut. He should have expected that, of course. It wasn't reasonable to expect Libra to just be available. If he had his Saturdays set aside for whatever act of charity this sort of thing counted as, then it wasn't unusual for him to be busy on other days of the week. Even Lon'qu was occupied five out of seven evenings with his part-time job.

But Lon'qu realized that he was, in fact, utterly screwed when he replied

> **Lon'qu**  
>  Probably.

instead of making an excuse about having to go to work early or something. Dread settled into his throat as it dawned on him that he was actually  _looking forward_  to the next time they could meet.

His only hope was that it somehow wouldn't get any worse.

* * *

It got worse.


End file.
